


The Penalty

by Nicholas_Lucien



Series: Calendar Days [7]
Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Angst, Calendar Day, Depression, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Vampires, car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: LaCroix finds inspiration for a lesson to Nick and decides on a new car all at the same time.





	The Penalty

**Author's Note:**

> So this story came about as I had been wondering what type of car LaCroix would want. Doing research into Cadillac I came across the ad titled 'The Penalty of Leadership', which is where the title to this story comes from, along with a lot of the concepts behind LaCroix's lesson. The ad was written by Theodore MacManus and was printed only once, in _The Saturday Evening Post_ on 2 January 1915. Reading it, I immediately thought of LaCroix. Basically, the ad says those that are the best will be constantly attacked by those that are envious and jealous. Complaining, it only reinforces that the other is superior to them, for no one goes after the mediocre. A true standard, a true leader, will become a target. But if they are good, if they truly are superior, then being attacked will be the penalty of their higher state, but they will survive. And the ad ends with this: "That which deserves to live - lives.” It just sounded like, to me, something LaCroix would get behind. As for the rest of the story, that just somehow happened.
> 
> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.

_2 January 1915 Detroit, MI, USA < < < _< < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < <

LaCroix relaxed in the leather chair positioned next to the fire.  Dressed in dark navy wool trousers, vest, and jacket, he was not cold, but the extra warmth emanating from the fireplace was pleasant.  He glanced up towards the ceiling, concentrating on his mental link with his son.  Janette had awakened some time before, but Nicholas had yet to stir.  LaCroix frowned as he turned back to watch the flames consume the logs.  Earlier in the week, Nicholas had shown up severely injured and weakened, but he should have been further along in his recovery by now.  LaCroix pondered what to do when his musing was interrupted by the sound of the study door opening.  Glancing in that direction, he smiled as his favorite daughter entered the room.

Janette glided over to LaCroix to greet him for the evening.  After that, she handed her master the letters and papers that had been delivered that day.

LaCroix accepted the stack, placing it upon the small table next to him.  “So, my dear,” he said as he turned to face her again.  “It has only been a few months, but what do you think of this city, this ‘Paris of the West’ as they like to call it?”

“Paris,” Janette snapped.  “Detroit can arrange the avenues and create buildings and try to add all the culture it can, but it will not be Paris.”  She huffed in response to the elder’s slight chuckle.  “It is also cold.”

“Well, it is winter.”  LaCroix brushed off some lint from his jacket, amused at her outburst.  “And do not be too harsh with them, they are trying.  If it does upset you that much, should we move back to Paris?”

“Honestly, at the moment I am more concerned about Nicolas.  You need to talk to him.  He has retreated, not focusing on anything around him, and he is not listening to me.”

“Janette, if he chooses to not talk about it-”

“At the very least,” Janette interrupted, “you might be able to get him to drink human blood.”

LaCroix scowled; he had been very clear with Nicholas as to what was needed for healing.  “What is he drinking?”

Janette crinkled her nose at the memory.  “Not human blood.  And barely enough of that.”

LaCroix rumbled in partial frustration as he reached over to the stack of mail.  “When Nicholas wakes, make sure he comes to see me.  Before,” LaCroix stressed, “he has fed on whatever it is he is drinking.”  Janette indicated she heard his order while he took _The Saturday Evening Post_ and opened it.  Finding an interesting article, he began reading Irvin Cobb’s ‘In the Rut of War’ as his daughter left the room.  He continued to read, even when he felt Nicholas wake up and leave his room to come downstairs.  He glanced over a few more pages as his son finally came into the study and sat down in the chair opposite of him.

“Good evening, LaCroix.”  Nick watched as his maker slowly lowered the paper he was reading.

LaCroix critically stared at his son, while letting a fraction of his irritation vibrate through their link.  He could see Nicholas was still weak and pale.  The dark gray wool jacket and white shirt made him look even paler by contrast.  “How is your recovery coming along?”

Nick let his eyes wander around the room as he answered.  “Fine.”

“Look at me, Nicholas.”  LaCroix waited until his child complied.  “I provided for you what you needed to get better.  I arranged to have bottles for you since you are in no condition to feed naturally,” he said, ignoring his son’s irritated response.  “The bottles were empty, I assumed you drank it.”

“No.”

“Nicholas-”

“I can’t, LaCroix.”  Nick weakly sank back into the chair, turning to watch the fire mindlessly dance in the fireplace.  “I just can’t.”

“You survived the attack, Nicholas,” LaCroix reminded him, well aware that his son still would not talk about what had happened. “This is what you need to finish your healing.”

“I didn’t deserve to survive.”

“You did not do anything that required such treatment.  You did nothing wrong.”

“I exist, that is what I did wrong.  And after what they did, I am still forced to live, to continue existing as this.”

Before LaCroix could respond on Nicholas’ unhealthy mental state, Janette entered.  She handed him a crystal cordial glass of blood, then placed a large wine glass full of blood next to Nicholas.

Nick turned from the fire, smelling the tempting aroma of human blood that was now beside him.  “Janette,” he whispered, while gently shaking his head, “I-”

“You will drink it, Nicholas.”

“Please, Nicolas,” Janette pleaded, “you need this.”  She watched as he turned to stare at the fire again.  Glancing imploringly to her maker, Janette looked at Nicolas one more time before turning and leaving the room.

LaCroix rose out of his chair, placed the paper down, and stepped over to Nicholas’ side.  Placing a hand gently on his son’s shoulder, careful of the healing wound left from the impaled stake, he waited until Nicholas looked at him again.  “I am serious.  You will drink what Janette has brought.”

“I-”

“And you will not limit yourself - you will drink all that we give to you.”  LaCroix slightly squeezed Nicholas’ shoulder while letting more of his irritation flow through their link.  “Do you understand?”

Nick felt the outpouring of his maker’s displeasure, and behind that, the stark reminder of a maker’s control over their offspring.  He also knew he was too weak to fight, and he had come to his sire for help.  LaCroix’s blood had done a lot to heal him, and Nick knew what being under LaCroix’s roof and in his maker’s debt would be like.  He had at least tried to have some semblance of control for as long as he was able.  He weakly nodded his head, and his sire let go.  Nick reached over to take the wine glass while his sire returned to his chair.

LaCroix sank back into the chair and resumed reading the paper once he saw Nicholas drinking.  He idly skimmed over some other articles, and a few short stories, though nothing particularly interested him.  When he felt Nicholas was taking too long to drink, he permitted irritation and disappointment to vibrate through their connection.  LaCroix turned to another page.  He was not paying any attention to the articles, concerned now more for the state Nicholas’ mind was in.  He was well aware of his son’s preference to limit himself, and the restriction on all human blood was the newest development in that.  But more troublesome was the chaotic thoughts that he would pick up, and the doubt Nicholas had about living, which contrasted so much with wanting to be healed from the attack.  LaCroix turned to the next page while surreptitiously making sure his son had drunk most of the blood.  Returning to the page, his attention was caught by a full-page ad that was only black text on the white page surounded by a black border.  Such a style was unusual, and once he started reading, found he was inspired.

“I have finished it,” Nick stated, as he placed the glass back on the small table.  He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel better.  The effect of human blood was so much more satisfying than the animal blood he was trying to live off of.  But he was resolved that after he completely healed, he would again resume drinking only animal blood.

LaCroix rolled up _The Saturday Evening Post_ and scrutinized his son.  He was looking slightly better, but he could still detect the darker thoughts just below the surface.  “Existing,” LaCroix began, returning to their initial conversation, “is not an inferior state to be in.  It is nothing to be ashamed of, and there is nothing wrong with wanting that.”

Nick shook his head; he knew there was a significant difference in being alive as a mortal and his existence.  This recent attack and so many others in the prior centuries told him that; mortals knew that what he was was unnatural, was wrong.  “What we are-”

“Need I remind you of what I have taught you from the beginning?  What we are is the best, the ultimate.  We have what all mortals want and strive for: immortality; immunity; power.  Humans want this, they want to be equal to us.  With medicines and technology, they strive for it.”

“Then why hurt us?  Why seek to eliminate us?  You know why.”

“They are followers, Nicholas.  And when they fail to achieve what we have, these followers seek to destroy us.”

“We are not better than them, LaCroix.”

“Their actions prove that we are and that they know we are.  This drive to hurt and remove their superiors is as old as human emotions.  Greed.  Ambition.  Envy.  But for the vast majority of them, they will not achieve what we have; what I was generous enough to give to you and the gift you, in turn, have bestowed to very few.”

“They were not driven by envy of what I had; they wanted to protect themselves from me.”

“Were you hurting them?  Did you hurt the woman you were seeing?  Did you kill any of them?”  LaCroix watched Nicholas barely shake his head.  “So their assault was not for defense, so it was because they recognized a superior state they could not have and were jealous.  They saw their opportunity and tried, but you survived.  They have assaulted us for ages, yet we still survive.”

“But did I deserve to?  Do any of us deserve to?”

“Those that deserve to live will live; those that do not, will not.  Call it fate, the will of the gods, or anything else you like, but it has always been that way.”

“Perhaps I believed that in the past, but I don’t feel that way now.”

“In time, you will again.  Remember, you came here, to me, to heal.  You did not go to the mortals for help, or try to get better on your own, or give up and go into the eternal void.  You wanted to survive, to continue to survive and live.  That brought you, and will always bring you, back to me.”  LaCroix let those words sink in, knowing his son could not deny its truth.  Confident this would put Nicholas back on track to accepting himself and returning to the family, LaCroix switched to his new idea, something he and his son could do together.  “Now, I need you to get better and be in a state where you can be in the presence of mortals by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” LaCroix said as he thumped the rolled-up _The Post_ into Nicholas’ hands.  “I have finally decided what motor car I want to purchase.  I will begin to make arrangements tonight and together we will acquire the automobile the following night.  You will be pleased; it will support the local economy.”

“What?”

“A Cadillac.  I find I agree with their business beliefs.”

Nick was having difficulty keeping up with how fast LaCroix’s train of thoughts had changed.  As his maker left, Nick opened the paper and looked at the page.  He saw it was an ad, a motor car ad different than others he had seen because this one had no images, not even of the vehicle.  It was just a full page of black text on a white background.  Nick read it, recognizing much of what his sire had just told him, along with the ending: _That which deserves to live – lives._


End file.
